OH.

"Well, there's a first time for everything.  I'm pretty sure tonight proves that."

You never can tell with bees.

I never saw that one coming.

No really, I didn't.  I was just minding my own business.  I wasn't looking for anything, honest.

Okay, so maybe that was a bit of a lie, but the rest of it was all true, I promise.  Cross my heart.  And boy, is it pounding.  I can feel it beating, pulsing, pumping blood through my body so fast that I can't help but run, barefooted in my cut-off shorts.  I know I must look crazy, but maybe I'm not. Maybe there's something to all of this.  "Can you feel my heart?  I think I feel it too."

See, there's no recipe book for things like this.  Two cups of flour, one egg, and a spoonfull of sugar.  It's not that simple here.  You're just going to have to try it and see.  Until then you'll never know if a loaf of french bread, a dead fish, and a superman watch is the recipe for disaster or, I don't know, cheesecake or something. But do you know what I think?  I think you just might end up with a sunlight flavored sports drink that won't stain your clothes or your soul.  But what do I know?  What do I know? It's just a feeling. 

So here we go.  Plunging headfirst into this crazy mess and putting our names down for round one of "let's turn our hearts into crash test dummies."  Hopefully those airbags hold up.  But you know what? I've got a feeling that they will.  Can you feel it?  I think I feel it too.


"Roses are red
Violets are blue
You're pretty stellar
But you're annoying too."


With love,
Dani

Of Boys and Pens, Take 2

This is about karma.

 It’s about how if you decide to break into somebody’s locker and steal all of their pens, chances are that all of your favorite pens will stop working or else disappear in the near future.

Hypothetically, of course.

 This is about how when you tell awkward stories about someone, most likely one of their best friends will be nearby, listening to every word you say.  Also, if you decide that you’re too high and mighty to listen to the universe, I can almost guarantee that the next time you tell that story, you’ll turn around to discover that their other best friend has been walking behind you the entire time.

 Not like that has ever happened to me or anything.

This is to warn you that of you decide that you are sick of having nothing going on, and that you wish you had something to do other than lying around the house all day, the universe will probably completely overload you with things to do.  And if you spend all of your lazy days complaining at top volume about how bored you are with your life, your giant to-do list will probably arrive in the last 2 weeks of the term, leaving you with no time to study and even less time to sleep.

But I wouldn’t really know, because that would never happen to me.

I'm craving orange juice.

I'm told I need to study, because you realize that AP testing starts next week?  But I say "no, just give me a tall glass of orange juice and let me sleep for 27 more days."

My mom tells me to clean my room.  She can barely see the floor.  And also, maybe I should do my laundry once in a while and then I'll have something to wear.  "No thank you, wearing the same oversized sweatshirt for a week and a half is fine with me.  But I'll take an ice cold orange juice."

We're kind of a thing, this sweatshirt and I.

You see, I always have "such damn cold hands."  I guess I have poor circulation.  I guess my heart can't pump my blood to the ends of my fingers and the tips of my toes.  Hot, flowing blood could warm my hands better than his sandpaper palms or my ugly, old sweatshirt.

Maybe my hands would warm up and start to sweat, and all my worries and fears would run from my heart, through my bloodstream, and down to my sweaty palms.  Maybe they would all dissolve and slip out of my body.

I bet if you tasted my sweat it would taste like salt and heartache, and if I touched your skin it would turn bright white and I would leave a warm colorless handprint.  It would linger for a few seconds before it began to fade away.

Do you think you would talk to me then?  Isn't that what you want?  Isn't it?  Weren't you just talking about how all you want is to be heard?  You don't want to fry a fish; you just want someone to listen to what you're saying.  You've got something to say and goshdangit! You want to say it.

Well, kid, all I want to do is listen.  You see?  I've already heard you.  I'm already listening.

But you weren't talking to me, were you?

So I guess I'll keep on wearing this retro sweatshirt, and counting out beats in sixes, and using up the ink in my pen, because even though I'm not a poet, I've been writing poetry all along.  I may not be a musician, but I keep on singing the same old song over and over and over, and it says "everything is gonna be alright."

And maybe it will.  Even though my hands are still  freezing, there's a whole lot of hope running through my veins, right along with the hurt and the fear and the orange juice.

"J'ai besoin d'un boisson."

Sincerely,
Cordially,
Affectionately,
Rolfe
Dani

In the Desert

By Stephen Crane

 

 

In the desert

I saw a creature, naked, bestial,

Who, squatting upon the ground,

Held his heart in his hands,

And ate of it.

I said, “Is it good, friend?”

“It is bitter—bitter,” he answered;

“But I like it

“Because it is bitter,

“And because it is my heart.”

How old is your soul?

I've been thinking a lot lately, but I'm not sure how to get those thoughts to come down from my brain and out through my mouth or my fingers.  I hear things and read things and see things that make me feel things that make me think things, but none of those things ever seem to come together in just the right way.

But maybe they don't have to fit perfectly.

I've been thinking about love.  I've been thinking about how you can love someone, but one day you can turn around and discover that you don't really love them at all anymore.  Or how sometimes you love someone, but that doesn't mean you want them around all the time.  Or how other times you love someone so much that you don't care what they do.

You just love them.

I've been thinking about wishing.  I've been thinking about wishing so bad for something that never happens.  I've been thinking about dreams that are never realized, but also about dreams that are.  I've been thinking about prayers that are answered.

I've been thinking about growing.  I've been thinking about how we never stop growing, and how I hope we're growing more understanding, more confident, and more compassionate, rather than more judgmental, more insecure, and more uncaring.

I've been thinking about fear.  I've been thinking about all of the things that I swore I wouldn't be afraid of anymore, and realizing that no matter how hard I try, I'll still be afraid.

I've been thinking about how that's okay, because after all, I'm only human.

I've been thinking about symbols, motifs, and themes, but I've also been thinking about derivatives and how the sine of pi/2 is one.

I've been thinking about how I've spent so much time thinking that I haven't had much time to do anything else.

It's hard to dance with a devil on your back, so shake him off.

You're using your headphones to drown out your mind.

When you don't wear shoes you build calluses on your feet; metal strings build calluses on your fingers; and monkey bars, gymnastics, and waterskiing build calluses on your palms.

That's one of those things I can't stop thinking about, just like iced lavender, that kid playing kumbayah on the piano, salt and vinegar potato chips, lace tablecloths, emoticons, and Matthew McConaughey.

I have a new wish.  I would tell you all about it but then it won't come true.

Welcome to the planet.

With love, Dani